


Ending (Where I Start)

by Darlinxx



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Draco Malfoy Has Issues, First Time, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Secret Relationship, Slight politics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:21:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26227834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darlinxx/pseuds/Darlinxx
Summary: “But I'd give it up, if I could keep you.” He turned slightly, slinking closer to Harry, trying to forget himself in the warmth, the soft rise and fall of his chest. “So I'm giving it to you,” Draco whispered, “ as sentimental and stupid as that is. Keep it safe.”Where some beginnings are always the hardest.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 28
Kudos: 154





	Ending (Where I Start)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tepre](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tepre/gifts), [aideomai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aideomai/gifts), [GallaPlacidia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GallaPlacidia/gifts), [bixgirl1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bixgirl1/gifts), [lq_traintracks (lumosed_quill)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lumosed_quill/gifts), [firethesound](https://archiveofourown.org/users/firethesound/gifts), [eleventy7](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eleventy7/gifts), [zeitgeistic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeitgeistic/gifts), [Quicksilvermaid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quicksilvermaid/gifts), [alpha_exodus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alpha_exodus/gifts).



> Previous title: You Wish (sorry for the change :P)
> 
> I gift this to all the drarry authors that had inspired me to make this fic. From the bottom of my heart, thank you for your unfailing passion in creating drarry content that we all love. 
> 
> IMPORTANT: I intentionally didn't add some tags (but there's NO major character death, violence or rape so you can be rest assured) because personally I think it would ruin the plot if I reveal it in the tags. But if you're curious, then you can scroll down at the end notes to see it.

"Malfoy, what's your favourite memory?” The damp walls of the cave, along with the persistent rain outside, made Harry's voice echo into the darkness. It had been three months since he had vanquished Voldemort for good. Three months since he volunteered to search for the Malfoys right after they vanished without trace the day before the trials. But what was three little months when added to seven years? 

_(What was three months, when added to a lifetime?)_

"When you started eating and I thought I would be free of your incessant chatter.” Malfoy's head was tipped back, leaning against the rock wall of the cave they had settled in for the night. Malfoy’s eyes were out of the wavering area illuminated by their fire, but Harry thought they were closed, which made a marked change from the way Harry had felt Malfoy's gaze on him as of late.

"I didn't talk while I was eating,” Harry said, playing along with their familiar banter while reaching towards the worn tin pot resting by the little fire and looking inside hopefully.

"True, but you managed to swallow the dinner that took me two hours to prepare in about thirty seconds.”

Having managed to find an extra mouthful of rice by scraping the bottom of the pan and thus ensuring he was probably eating metal, Harry spoke with his mouth full. “'S'not my fault you suck at hunting.”

"I don't suck at hunting. I just had to get five times the usual amount of food because of your infinite appetite.” Malfoy tipped his head forward to glare. “Stop scraping that, you're eating tin filings.”

"Tastes good though, kinda zingy,” Nevertheless, Harry put the pot down. Malfoy leaned his head back. Harry rested back on his hands, stretched his legs out, digging his heels into the cool sand of the cave floor, and stared. “So?”

Malfoy shifted slightly, pulling one leg up and resting his arm on it. The air was cool, but he didn't seem cold. “So what?”

"So what's your favourite memory?” Harry kicked his heels against the ground impatiently, lifting a hand to scratch below his ear. “Mine is when Hagrid told me I was a wizard. And maybe when I learned about Quidditch. No, wait. When I found Sirius,” Harry’s voice caught at his late godfather’s name but he plunged on a beat later, ”and Lupin. Oh, when they told me about the Order. Well, actually,” Harry paused, grinning teasingly at Malfoy. “It’s probably when you promised to come back to London with me.” 

_(When I caught up with you and you didn’t leave with your parents. When I thought you would but you didn't. All I did was ask and you-)_

Malfoy snorted. “I didn't promise.”

Within a second, Harry scrambled next to Malfoy, grabbed his collar and made the other boy growl with irritation as he was pulled to the side. “What the hell?”

"Get off,” Malfoy grumbled, prising Harry's fingers away from the cloth of his shirt. “I'm not going anywhere.” Harry's grip loosened minutely, so that Malfoy could pull his hands away, but Harry didn't move out of his space.

"You'd better not,” Harry said lowly, his voice scratching slightly.

"You'll only drag me back again anyway,” Malfoy said, leaning away slightly in an attempt to put some space between them.

"Damn right I will,” Harry agreed. “So just _stay_.”

"It's not like I have anywhere else to go,” Malfoy said, turning his head away. Harry stared for a second before swallowing and turning away so his back was pressed against the wall next to Malfoy.

"You still have me,” Harry reminded him, pulling his knees up to his chest and leaning on them. The wall of the cave was cold against his back so he moved forward slightly, wondering how Malfoy could stand it. “So what _is_ your favourite memory?”

"I don't have one,” Malfoy said after a few seconds, his eyes fixed on the opposite wall of the cave they had stopped in for the night.

"How can you not have a favourite memory?” Harry asked, scrunching up his nose, eyeing the curve of Malfoy's neck as it was bared to him. “Not even from when you were younger?”

"When exactly would I have had a favourite memory?” Malfoy snapped, giving Harry a dark look. “When I took the Dark Mark because my father told me to? When I tortured and did horrible things to other people because I was too afraid that the Dark Lord will do those things to me if I didn't follow him? When I tried to do this one task assigned to me and yet I still failed to kill Dumbledore? Before a _monster_ lived in our house for months? Or after, when my father convinced me to go with him and my mother because he’s too much of a coward to face the awaiting trials?"

Cringing a little at the intensity of Malfoy's glare and the pain in his voice, Harry leaned forward and grabbed the hand that was resting on Malfoy's knee, trying to convey some of his warmth into the cold skin. “Malfoy, I-” He was roughly shook off as Malfoy stood, presenting Harry with a view of his back.

"Don't ask me stupid questions,” Malfoy said coldly. “We're not friends, you don't understand anything about me.”

Harry stood slowly, not saying anything for a few moments and staring at the back of Malfoy's shirt. “You don't have to push me away all the time, Malfoy,” he said after a little while before placing his hand on Malfoy, _again_ , but this time on Malfoy’s shoulder. He felt Malfoy's back stiffen and he turned his head to glare, but Harry went on. “Maybe I don't understand everything about you. Maybe that's because you never let me in.”

"Maybe that's because I don't want to,” Malfoy snarled, throwing off the hand that Harry had placed on his shoulder, only to find himself shoved against the uneven wall of the cave with Harry infringing dangerously on his personal space.

"Quit it,” Harry snapped, shaking Malfoy's arm roughly, oozing dangerous, addictive warmth into every part of Malfoy's body he touched. “Stop pretending you don't care about me when it's obvious that you do.” Malfoy looked as though he was about to interrupt, but Harry ignored him. “Do you think I'm blind? That I can't see the way you've been looking at me ever since we started travelling around?”

“You call this _travelling around_? You pretended you haven’t caught me yet to buy yourself some time. You’re just like me, Potter. You went after me and my family because you wanted to escape too.” Malfoy’s eyes burned holes on him, but Harry stared right back. “You just won’t admit it. You moved away from everyone and everything at the first chance you got.”

The answer slipped past him as easily as breathing. “Okay,” was all Harry said, his mind going back to the War. The way many had died. The way _he_ died. 

_(You’re right.)_

"And don't flatter yourself, I'm not that desperate,” Malfoy continued, making a derisive noise. Harry raised his eyebrows, unconvinced.

"I don't think you're desperate,” Harry corrected. “I think you like me.” His grip on Malfoy's arm shifted, curling possessively around a pale wrist. Harry leaned closer, eyes calculating, testing, testing...

"And that's just another testament to your stupidity,” Malfoy said, although there was a hint of unease in his tone, probably caused by the close proximity of Harry, and the intensity of his gaze.

Brushing off the insult, Harry looked intently at Malfoy. “I'm sorry you don't have any favourite memories,” he said quietly, almost a whisper. “But things'll be different now. Starting from now on.”

"I wish you'd leave me alone,” Malfoy mumbled into the space between them.

It was a lie, and they both knew it, so Harry didn't say anything, and Malfoy let out a small sigh before closing the space between them, and in doing so, starting something that he'd known for a long time was inevitable.

*

Even after Potter's eyes closed, Draco kept his open, absorbing everything. _This,_ he thought hazily, moving his mouth down Potter's neck, feeling the pulse flutter rapidly against his lips, filling him with a sense of power. _This_ , Draco wanted to remember.

*

The journey back home lasted for two weeks, twice as long as it should have. They could’ve used the Portkey that the Ministry had given Harry, or they might have chosen to Apparate several times across the continent for convenience sake. But Harry stuck through with his word. _We can travel for a bit on our feet and see the world, Malfoy._ He might have felt horrible for pointing out that it would be Malfoy’s last chance to be free enough to roam around wherever he liked to (at least for awhile), and true enough Malfoy had grabbed the chance to prolong the inevitable. 

So Harry kept creating reasons that they should stop for the night earlier than they needed to. He insisted they go at a slower pace than they could, just in case. He made sure they took a longer route, because he said it was safer. Watching Malfoy ride a muggle bus was a perk on its own.

And each time Harry made a new claim, Malfoy gave him a look that plainly voiced his skepticism, but said nothing.

"I just want to keep you to myself for a little bit longer,” Harry whispered once, curled up to sleep with his head resting on Draco's shoulder.

"I'm not a thing,” Draco said, but didn't move. “I know that's not all.”

Harry said nothing, just rubbed his nose against Draco's skin and tried to memorise the scent. He knew he was returning to his home. To his friends, to his life, to his dream, and that he should be happy.

But for the first time in a long time, Harry wasn't looking forward to returning back home.

"It'll be okay when we get there. Everything'll be like it was before. Remember?”

*

Draco's cell was pleasant enough. Grey walls, stone floor, one high, barred window. A bed in one corner with a thin mattress supported by a rickety bedframe. The other corner held a sink and toilet. It was clean, and he didn't have to share.

It was still a prison.

His cell was isolated with one wall replaced with bars and reinforced with an invisible barrier, allowing visitors to stand on the other side. There was only ever one visitor.

The heavy door on the other side of the bars of Draco's cell swung open with a screech, causing him to glance up from the bed he was sitting on.

"Good morning, Malfoy,” Potter said, stepping into view and closing the door behind him. He looked far too colourful for the drab greys of Draco's cell. The only thing that gave away that this was not a typical day was the nervous way Potter’s eyes kept darting around the room.

Potter was holding a white cardboard box in one hand and grinning. “Good news! I brought you onigiri!” Draco said nothing, not even looking in Potter's direction. Harry ploughed on, unaffected. “I remembered when we ate at this Japanese restaurant and you gobbled it down in one go. I was also going to get you ramen, but then I ate it on the way over, so then I was going to get you dango, but I remembered you don't like sweet things! So I I went back to my flat and made you some onigiri and brought it straight here.” Potter paused for a few seconds, facing the bars that marked the front of Draco's cell.”I heard that you might be getting moved to a different cell. Might have a bigger window. That'd be cool, right?”

When Draco still didn't answer, Potter started to fidget a little. There was nowhere to sit, and Draco saw Potter shift his weight from one foot to the other, still clutching the white box. “I...I know this is crap for you, but it's only temporary. Just until The Ministry is sure you're not a threat.”

"Only temporary,” Draco said softly, his voice scratchy from lack of use. Potter looked up at the sound, watching warily as Draco turned his head a little to meet his gaze. “That's what you said when we got here, and the Aurors and your Minister threw me in here. That's what you said when they made me drink that potion to deplete my magical core and rob me of my magic.That's what you said when the Wizengamot decided I would be imprisoned indefinitely.” Draco paused, his eyes narrowing. “It's funny, none of these things seem temporary at all.”

Potter sighed, leaning against the wall and letting his smile droop a little. “I know it's hard, Malfoy. But it's not going to be like this forever.” He got no reply, just Draco turning his head back to the window, effectively ignoring him.

This had been the routine for weeks now. Potter would talk. Draco would ignore him. And the one-sided conversation was like walking on ice, because one slip up could trigger Draco's constantly brewing anger. And Draco didn't shout, which was somehow worse. The quiet voice, the soft, cutting edge of his tone.

Draco was furious, and it was Potter's fault. He was the one that had brought him back, he might as well have locked the cell door himself. Sometimes he wondered where his parents were, and if they were okay. 

But Draco couldn't find it in himself to regret his decision of coming back with Potter.

_*_

Harry only saw Malfoy for one hour every day, that was as much as he was allowed. He didn't know what Malfoy did in the rest of the time; how much was interrogation or humiliation, and how much was just being left, abandoned to the cold stone of his cell and the thoughts, memories and regrets that rotted his heart.

Swallowing, Harry took a few steps closer, relaxing marginally now that Malfoy's attention wasn't on him. It was a little easier once he'd gotten Malfoy to speak. He didn't have to pretend anymore that things were okay. He didn't have to talk to fill the silence.

Harry approached the bars slowly and crouched to push the onigiri between the bars, the object unaffected by the magical barrier. He gave a little sigh, reaching out and curling a hand around a bar, feeling the metal cold and gritty under his touch. It buzzed a warning against his skin, like a static shock, but stayed for the most part dormant. Harry knew from experience that although the barrier was weaker on visitors than the prisoner, trying to reach properly into the cell would cause a severe backlash.

And that meant he couldn't touch Malfoy.

And Harry _really_ wanted to.

It was so unfair. The rest of their journey back had been...incredible. Amongst other things, Harry had discovered that sleeping rough was a lot more enjoyable when you had another person to wind yourself around, and even if Malfoy grumbled about it, he didn't push him away. Much. And although increasingly distracted, they had explored...a little. Harry didn't think Malfoy would have minded but he hadn't wanted to rush, and tried to set them a slow pace- they'd only just managed a tentative companionship, he didn't want to run the risk of destroying their already shaky relationship.

But it was like being given a taste and having it all snatched away at the last minute, letting you enjoy it just long enough to ensure you'd long for it in every breath you took thereafter.

Watching Malfoy now, even from the back, the light from the window blurring the side of his silhouette, seeing the way his shoulders were curled in, ever so slightly and the way his muscles shifted as he moved, was enough to make Harry's mouth dry with want.

Seeing the way his bones had begun to poke out a little, and the slump to his once proud stance, made Harry want to cry.

For the first time in months, Malfoy was back in London. And he was still out of Harry's reach, even after all this time.

( _He wonders if it’s his karma for not accepting Draco’s hand at the time)_.

*

After fifteen minutes of silence, Potter said a short goodbye and left. Draco didn't reply, but once Potter had left, Draco turned around and spent a long moment with his eyes on the closed door.

*

“I hope you’re not making a mistake, Harry.” Hermione grabbed his hand and squeezed it tight. “I won’t be present as I’d like to anymore, what with me going back to Hogwarts.” 

“Don’t you want to appoint me as the Voice of Reason in your absence?” Ron laughed, but it sounded shallow, his eyes melancholic. Harry pinched Hermione’s hand before pulling his hand back and tapped Ron on his shoulder, wanting to comfort him but not knowing how. They all knew Ron wanted to be with Hermione wherever she went to, but he didn’t want to go back to Hogwarts. _Too many memories_ , he’d confided once, which Harry agreed on vehemently. 

Hogwarts was home to Harry, but after the War it didn’t seem like one anymore. It was like a haunted house now, but one that he had loved.

Harry gulped down his drink in one go. “I hope you won’t get bored without two idiots hovering on your side anymore.”

“Good job deflecting the topic,” Ron commented before raising his hand for a high-five. Harry rolled his eyes and ignored it. “Hey, I’m concerned too. Especially if it’s Malfoy.”

Harry snorted. “You can be my caretaker if you want to, Ron. Follow me around and report back to Hermione. Surely that would be a fascinating chore.” 

Hermione cleared her throat. “You know that’s not what we meant, Harry.” She sighed. “With Malfoy, you’re entirely a whole different person.”

“It’s not only the fact that you lose any semblance of common sense when it comes to that prick,” Ron chimed in, and Harry saw Hermione gave her boyfriend a grateful look. “It’s also because you want to shag the daylights out of him. I don’t know who to pity between the both of you, honestly-”

Harry groaned in embarrassment. “Blimey, I regret that I told you guys about that.”

“But that’s not what bothers me, Harry.” Hermione’s face looked worried, her brows furrowed and his lips pursed. 

Harry knew they only meant the best for him, but he couldn’t help but glare. Sometimes Hermione made him feel like a child. “I’m not stupid, okay? You make me sound like one.”

“You have feelings for him, mate.” Ron’s face looked wretched as he said it. “You’re not the type to fool around with just anyone.”

Harry had a feeling that they’ve talked about this behind his back more than a couple of times. “It’s not like we’re off getting married or something. He doesn’t even have to know.” 

_He doesn’t even have to tell him._

*

“Malfoy-” Harry stopped himself. If he wanted to make his point come across, then he should start calling using Malfoy’s given name. “Draco isn’t Lucius. He shouldn’t atone for his parents’ mistakes.”

"I don't know what it is you expect me to do,” Shacklebolt said. “You do know he took the Dark Mark, right? He let the Death Eaters in Hogwarts, putting everyone’s lives at risk. He attempted to murder Dumbledore. He tortured muggles, he said so when we gave him Veritaserum.”

Sighing, Harry stopped rolling on the balls of his feet and placed his hands on the desk, leaning so that he was more on the Minister’s level. When he spoke, his voice was quiet and serious. “He didn’t do it because he wanted to. He was left with no choice. He’s just like me, still too young yet forced to do things bigger than us.” Harry didn't have to mention who he was talking about. It had been obvious this was about Malfoy as soon as Harry had stepped into the Minister’s office. Everything had been about Malfoy since the two of them had returned. 

_(If Harry thought about it, which he avoided at all costs, he realized that most things for him had been about Malfoy for a long time before that._ )

"The Wizengamot refuses to release him until he proves himself, as I've told you before.” Shacklebolt tried and failed to be stern, and landed on consolatory.

"But that's bollocks, he can't get out until he proves himself, whatever that means, and he can't prove himself while he's stuck in Azkaban!” Harry straightened, frustrated, and paced in front of the desk, glaring at the untidy bookcase on one of the walls. “It's never going to end. He's gonna be stuck in there forever!” Shacklebolt was silent, watching his tense frame move agitatedly about the room.

Harry scuffed his sandal against the tightly woven carpet. “There's gotta be another way.”

Tilting his head, Shacklebolt regarded him for a second, trying to understand him. 

"I'll see what I can do.”

*

Outside, it was a perfect summer day. The sun was shining brightly, and the warm breeze through the trees was a familiar and comforting tune.

Inside Malfoy's cell, Harry felt chilled to his bones. Somehow, when it was warm outside, prisons always felt colder, and colder still when they contained someone you cared about.

"So I was talking to Shacklebolt, and he says he'll have a word with the Wizengamot and 'see what he can do',” Harry said, using his fingers to produce air quotes. “Or something.” He glanced around the visiting area outside Malfoy's cell, wishing there was a chair to sit on. “So you should be out any day now! And things'll go back to normal, like they were before.” Better than normal, because normal didn't include Harry licking down Malfoy's spine, which was one of the top things he planned to do as soon as Malfoy got out. After kissing him, long and hard.

"That's great, isn't it, Malfoy?” Harry said more than asked. “Aren't you going to say something?”

"What would you like me to say?” Malfoy's voice was gravelly. He was sitting on his thin bed, leaning against the wall, dark eyes watching Harry who started slightly, having not expected cooperation in the conversation.

"Umm, anything,” Harry said, hating how unfinished his words seemed. He didn't want to say the wrong thing, in case it triggered the simmering anger that resided in Malfoy. “What's on your mind?”

There was silence for a while, only a quiet dripping coming from the tap above Malfoy's washbasin, the faucet of which wouldn't close properly. Harry thought Malfoy wasn't going to answer, and was surprised when he spoke. “What's on my mind?”

The question was asked innocently, but Harry knew he had somehow misstepped, and braced himself, replying anyway. “Yeah, what are you thinking about?”

Malfoy raised his head slightly to fix Harry with a thick, grim stare. “Right now, I'm thinking about outside. I'm thinking that I can't remember what the grass smells like. I'm thinking that when my pitiful excuse for dinner gets here, I won't be able to eat it, and even though I spent most of the night throwing up, I still feel so nauseous I can hardly breathe, and every time I try to stand up I nearly pass out. I'm thinking that your Minister has spoken with the Wizengamot four times already and not managed to do anything. And I'm thinking that the only thing more annoying than listening to the tap dripping incessantly every fucking second is listening to your pathetic, moronic voice.”

Swallowing hard, Harry tried to reason with himself, in a way that would take away the hurt he had anticipated, but it didn't help. “I-”

"The worst part,” Malfoy interrupted in a low voice, so quiet that if Harry hadn't been concentrating, he would have missed it, “is that I actually look forward to your visits, no matter how utterly pointless they are, because without them, trapped in here with no contact with any one, I'd go mad.” Malfoy let out a little bitter laugh. “Maybe then they'd deem me a danger to myself and kill me. I wish they would.”

Somehow, Harry's throat was still so dry. He opened his mouth, not knowing what he was going to say. As twisted as it was, hearing that he was needed like that made a tiny, selfish part of him, feel appreciated. “You-”

Pulling his knees up and resting his head on them, Malfoy held up a hand. “Leave now, Potter.” His voice was slightly muffled. He didn't sound angry, just tired.

Harry left.

*

"Hey, Harry!”

The call jolted Harry out of the reverie he was in, as he walked back towards his flat. It was just after sunset, and he had decided he favored walking rather than Apparating back to his place. His morning consisted of helping Ron and George out in the shop, then they all went to the Burrow at lunch. Without Fred around anymore (his seat at the dining table was always left unoccupied) and with Ginny back at Hogwarts, the place seemed a little quieter than usual. He spent the rest of his afternoon watching out over Teddy with Andromeda. 

He turned in the direction of the voice and saw Pansy jogging towards him. She grinned as soon as he stopped and quickly caught up. “Hey Pansy, what's up?”

"Nothing, nothing,” Pansy said with a smile, brushing her hair back and guiding him to walk with her. “I saw you, and I haven't spoken to you in a while.” Right after the War, Pansy had pulled him aside to apologize for what she had done. Harry remembered how her hands shook terribly, yet her eyes were unwavering as they stared back at him. After that was a blur-all he knew was that somehow, he and Pansy had become friends.

Harry's forehead wrinkled, his eyebrows pulling together. “What do you mean? I saw you the other day! When I went to St. Mungos and invited you for lunch with Terry Boot. You declined because you said the Spell Damage ward was jam-packed and you couldn’t afford free time.”

Blinking at him, Pansy patted his shoulder gently, a look of pity passing through her eyes before it cleared. “Idiot,” she said fondly. “That was two weeks ago.”

"Huh?” Harry looked upwards in thought, counting on his fingers. “No way...You're right.”

"Of course I am,” Pansy said, a little too heatedly. “But it's okay. I know you've been busy.” She hesitated a moment. “With Draco.”

"Yeah,” Harry said, somewhat relieved that Pansy had mentioned him first. 

"How is he?” Pansy asked gently, as they walked past a row of restaurants and cafes, brightly lit.

"...He's okay,” Harry said. “He''ll be okay.”

Smiling a little, just the corners of her mouth curling up, Pansy tilted her face towards the sky, watching the clouds move as they walked. “You know, when Draco had left without a word, I used to daydream about him coming back.”

"Really?” Harry asked, having not expected such a confession.

Pansy gave him an impish grin. “Oh yes, all the time. I'd imagine that he went somewhere safe, where it’s peaceful and where nothing reminded him of the War. And once he’s okay and back on his feet he decides to come back with his parents in tow, because I know he will. Then the Wizengamot sets Draco free, and he will have his old life back..” She tilted her head slightly, considering. “And of course, he'd marry me, not Astoria.” The triumphant smile that had graced her features faded. “But...it wasn't quite right. All the time I've ever known Draco, his goal was to be what his father wished him to be. That was his drive for everything. I couldn't imagine what he would be like without that. When a man moulds himself around a goal, what happens when that goal is completed?”

"Draco's going to be fine,” Harry reiterated, fists clenched. “He's stronger than that.”

Pansy looked at him for a second, then nodded to herself, before changing the topic slightly. “You know, the Wizengamot isn't keeping Draco a prisoner because they think he's a danger.”

"I know,” Harry said grimly, glaring at the ground. “It's not like he could do anything with his magic currently suppressed anyway. They're doing it to punish him.”

"Yeah,” Pansy agreed softly, reaching out to brush her hand against Harry's comfortingly. “But they still appreciate that he could be a strong asset to the Ministry, if his loyalty could be guaranteed. He could help track down the remaining Death Eaters, or he could help search for their possible hideouts. He could recognize traps and reverse some dark spells or curses casted if ever. The Ministry knows Draco’s good at his spellwork, not to mention his skills at Potions.”

"But there's no way to do that- at least no way the Wizengamot would accept.” Harry's fingers hurt from the constant clenching and unclenching. “So he's stuck in there.”

They had reached the corner of the street where Pansy's house was, and the point that they would usually split up when walking together, so they stopped under a street lamp. “I heard from Neville that the Minister spoke to them again today, like you asked him to.”

"Really?” Harry tried to suppress the bubble of hope rising in him, like it had all the other times. The Auror department had offered the heroes of the War a free pass to try out the Auror program immediately, and Neville had accepted it right away. Harry wasn’t too keen to set himself out there just yet, nor did Ron, judging by the way he lounged comfortably around the shop with his brother. But sometimes it helped that someone he knew was at the Ministry and keeping him updated of things. “What happened?”

Gnawing her lip, Pansy spoke slowly. “Neville said that they would consider freeing Draco.”

"What?!” Harry practically shouted, making Pansy shush him. His eyes brightened and he let out a tiny disbelieving laugh. “No way?!”

"But there was a condition, Harry,” Pansy said. Sensing her lack of elation, the nervous way her eyes were scanning his reaction, Harry felt a cold fear grip him.

"What was the condition?” he asked. Pansy frowned, pursing her lips. “Pansy, tell me.”

"You're not going to like it,” she said.

She was right.

*

"You can't,” was the first thing Harry said, still gasping for breath, bent in half with his hands grasping his knees, but his head pulled up to meet Draco's gaze ( _he won’t ever be just Malfoy to him from now on_ ). When he got no reply he went on. “The Wizengamot's agreement, you can't accept it. You won't. Right?”

Having caught his breath back, Harry straightened, watching as Draco stood from the bed and walked the few steps to the bars. Still not talking, not giving the reassurance that Harry desperately needed. “You won't,” Harry continued to press. “Right?”

"Your Minister told you,” Draco said softly, hands in his pockets, eyes unreadable. Harry shook his head briskly.

"No, Pansy did. Neville told her.”

"They came to me this afternoon and gave me their offer.” There was no hesitation in Draco’s speech, just smooth and soft. The kind of tone that made the worry Harry felt multiply again and again with every word.

"Draco. What did you tell them?” Harry whispered. The way his breath was catching in his throat now had nothing to do with the run to get here.

"I said I'd think about it,” Draco said finally, eyes narrowed as he watched Harry's reaction.

Hearing that Draco had considered the offer felt like being punched in a gut. If his breathing had been strained before, it was nothing compared to the burn he felt now.

"You're actually considering accepting it?” Harry shouted weakly, ignoring the way his voice echoed off the concrete walls. “How can you?”

"They said if I accepted, I'd be released immediately. They'd take off the potion so my magic could come back as well. They even told me that I could work for the Ministry if I wished to.”

Harry gaped, Draco couldn't disguise the faint trace of longing in his voice. He really wanted this. “But you'll lose everything that makes you _you_.”

Draco’s lip curled, a thread of control snapping at the claim. “And what exactly is that? A prejudiced pureblood prat that acted as if he owned Hogwarts since he was young? A guy who’s smart but did nothing but stupid decisions in life? Someone who cursed and tortured people and took the Dark Mark? A coward who escaped with his parents? An ungrateful child for giving them up at the last minute?”

Hearing that made Harry close his eyes in pain. At various points in his life, he would have wished for Draco to see his wrongdoings, his vendettas, in such a light, but not now, not after he'd thrown so much away to accomplish them. Not when he was left with no choice.

_When a man moulds himself around a goal, what happens when that goal is completed?_

"Draco,” Harry started, intent on being the voice of reason. “If you agree, then you’ll be exactly as you said. A coward.”

"Maybe I am,” Draco said, quietly. “I just won't _remember_ it.”

"How can you want that?” Harry said, disbelievingly. “How can you want to let it all go just like that?” Draco's eyebrows pulled together.

"How can I not?” Draco answered back, his voice harsh. “Do you think it's nice to look back on my life and see everything I've done?” He laughed cruelly. “You have no idea.”

"Draco. Look, I get it, but listen to me-”

"You? You're the reason I'm here in the first place.”

Thinking Draco was talking about being dragged back here, Harry tried to explain. “I'm sorry but-”

"Not that,” Draco shook his head, knowing what Harry was thinking. “You wouldn't have convinced me if I didn't want to come. At the Ministry, when we arrived.”

Blinking, Harry processed what Draco had said, not understanding. At the Ministry? “I don't know what you mean...”

"As soon as we sensed the Aurors, I should have run. I could have outrun them, could have been far, far away from here. But I looked at you, and I could see you were afraid of that exact thing. You had this stupid look on your face. And I hesitated. Just for a second.” Draco's eyes met Harry's. “And now I'm here. Stuck in these four walls, with nothing to do but think about how fucked up my entire life has been.”

"They'll release you eventually,” Harry said weakly. “They'll have to. You don't have to accept this...”

"Will they? I don't think so. And if they do, how long am I supposed to wait? Years? Decades? Do you think when I'm an old man, they'll deem me safe and let me live out the last few years of my life in freedom?”

"At least you'll still be the Draco I know when you get out!” Harry insisted. He glared at the bars, wishing so much that they weren't there. He felt, if he could just touch Draco, physically, he would be able to convince him. “If you agree then...then what about _us_?”

It was dark now, but both of their eyes had adjusted to the dimness, so that Harry could clearly see the look on Draco's face, and keenly feel the hurt, before any words were spoken. “Us?” Draco echoed, incredulously. “What hallucination are you living in? How can there be any kind of 'us' while my life is restricted to this cell? You should be happy, this way, you could get the relationship you want.”

"But I want that relationship with _you_.” Harry wondered if he imagined that Draco's eyes softened slightly, before hardening again.

"Stop deluding yourself,” he demanded harshly. “There can't be any relationship between us with the way things stand.”

"Taking their deal is the coward's way out,” Harry repeated, gritting his teeth, tension lining his face. “I never knew you to run away from your problems again.”

"Why shouldn't I?” Draco hissed, turning and slamming a hand against the wall. “Why can't I get a chance at a new life? Haven't I suffered enough?”

Harry frowned, scrunching up his whole face. “I know you've been through some crap, Draco, and I can't say what I would have done in your position,” Harry said slowly, his worry cooling as he started to become angry with Draco. “But you have to take responsibility for your own actions.”

"Says who?” Draco asked darkly. He was standing in front of the bars, staring through at Harry. “You? You think I give a damn?”

Harry curled his lip in disgust. His previous fear about the agreement had all but disappeared, as he listened to Draco speak. Harry had never heard him speak like this, Draco was rarely vocal about his feelings ( _or honest with them anyway_ ), and hearing him talk in this way made Harry's blood boil. After everything they had been through together, Draco was willing to throw it all away for a chance to run away from his mistakes, chosen they may be or not.

"No, I know you don't,” Harry said, a little surprised at the venom in his voice. For the past few months, he'd bottled up his anger at Draco, fixated on keeping him in London, but now they were coming out. “You only seem to care about yourself. Always had and always would be.”

Draco looked surprised for a second, his lips parted slightly, but then his face clouded, mouth tightening into a stern line. Sensing the change in mood, that he had gone a step too far, Harry tried to back peddle. “Draco-”

"How _dare_ you,” he hissed, teeth clenched.

"Y-you know I didn't mean that,” Harry said, panicking at the abrupt turn of events. “I just-”

"You _did_ mean it,” Draco snapped, reaching up as though to clasp a bar, but stopping in time. “It's the truth, we both know it.” 

"But you can't...” Harry started again weakly. _You can’t forget about me._ Draco gave a brusque shake of his head.

"Get out,” he said quietly. “I want to be alone.” He threw himself onto the bed, effectively ignoring Harry who left with a heavy heart, wondering exactly what he had done.

*

The Wizengamot had given Draco a week to decide what he wished to do. Harry spent the seven days locked up in his flat, Draco refusing to see him in his cell, with nothing to do but stew over what had been said.

On the eighth day, Harry headed to the Ministry.

Shacklebolt didn't smile when he came in, just looked at him, taking in his appearance; tired eyes, dishevelled clothes, and slumped, defeated shoulders.

"He gave us his decision yesterday,” Shacklebolt started gravely. Harry nodded numbly. “Well? Aren't you going to ask what he said?”

The side of Harry's mouth twitched up in a pale, ghostly imitation of his usual grin. “I don't need to.”

"Harry...” Shacklebolt sighed heavily. “Maybe it's better this way,” he suggested. “It could be like a fresh start for him...”

Harry shook his head briskly. “I don't-” he sighed, jaw clenched. “Just tell me where he is.”

“He needs someone to ‘look after him’ for the first few months. If you know what I mean.” Shacklebolt’s eyes were grave. “I guess you’re up to the job?”

“Monitor him, you mean? Like being his Arresting officer.” Harry couldn’t keep the disgust on his face. “Draco wouldn’t want that."

“Mr. Malfoy was already aware of the arrangement. In fact, he was the one who insisted that he’d preferred you over any other Auror. It’s only for awhile. Just until his treatment finishes.”

Harry’s heart ached. 

*

When Harry burst into Draco's new flat- without knocking -Draco was sitting at the kitchen table, with Pansy on the other side. Around them were a few cardboard boxes that held Draco's few possessions, yet to be unpacked.

Draco looked a million times better. There was an ease to his features that Harry hadn't seen in a long time. The haunted look that had started to stay in his eyes, night and day, had dissipated a little. The small kitchen was flooded with sunshine and sitting there, Draco looked...calm.

On the other hand, Pansy was clearly agitated. Tapping her foot beneath the table, eyes wide as she recognized Harry. On the table in front of her, was a large grey box with clasps on the side, and the Ministry’s emblem stamped on the front.

Harry swallowed and took a step forward, then another, and another, until he was standing next to the table. While Pansy's eyes followed his movements, Draco only looked up when Harry was close enough to touch him.

Taking a deep breath, Harry bumped his hand gently against the one Draco had laid on the table, before walking around and sliding into the chair next to him.

"Pansy," he said softly, although she winced nonetheless. "You're here for the treatment."

"The first one," she replied, just as quietly, relaxing minutely as she realized he wasn't angry. "I volunteered. St. Mungos was already informed about this."

Harry nodded thoughtfully, slipping one hand under the table to clasp at Draco's. "Okay. So how does this work?" Though Draco's hand tensed for a moment, he didn't pull away.

Glancing at Draco for reassurance, Pansy spoke. "The potion is new, it was developed very recently, so its full effects haven't been tested extensively yet, but it's completely safe." She grew a little in confidence as she spoke, clearly knowledgeable on the subject. Harry knew she wanted to be one of the best Healers someday.

"It's a two part treatment. First a healing spell is used, requiring direct contact. That's what I'll be administering.”

Under the table, Harry squeezed Draco's hand gently.

"Due to the complexity of the brain, it's not possible to simply wipe out whole memories. Instead it will just close doors. After each session, there's a special potion that you'll need to drink. That will ensure the longevity of the treatment after he completes. It will also encourage your mind to fill in the gaps in your history itself. This is the most organic and safe way." Pansy paused for breath, eyeing the two of them across from her. "Your subconscious will create the alternative memories, so in a way, it's like you get to choose your past."

And Draco squeezed back.

*

By the evening of the second day after Draco's release, everything was unpacked. They had cleaned up the Draco's flat which was of a fair size, and gone shopping to stock up on necessities. By tacit, Harry had brought a spare futon and set it up next to Draco's in the bedroom, as well as moving a few of his own things in.

Pansy had left the previous day after giving Draco the first of his treatments. Harry had watched as she placed her hands on Draco's temples and let her magic flow out. It had only lasted a few seconds, and before she finished she had asked Draco to drink the mixture she herself had prepared, and promised to return the next week.

Since then, Harry had been keeping a careful eye on Draco, but had noticed nothing abnormal in his actions. Although Pansy had warned that it was a progressive treatment, with the effects accumulating towards the end of the term, Harry couldn't help but hope that there was something wrong with it, and Draco would remain unaffected.

Shutting the fridge, Harry eyed the now empty paper bag that had been used to carry the groceries back. “I think I'm done here,” he called, raising his voice slightly. There was an answering grunt from the bedroom. Crushing the bag into a ball and tossing it in the bin, Harry followed the sound and found Draco sitting on the floor, folding some sheets. “Need help?”

"No,” Draco said, not looking up. Harry ignored the slight, focusing on the oddly hypnotic motion of Draco's hands, as he folded the sheets, straightening the edges and brushing the creases out. It was strange to see hands as lethal as Draco's doing something so domestic. Harry was surprised that Draco would care about creases.

"Alright,” Harry said amiably, not willing to cause a fight. “Do you want to cook, or should I? Pansy made me buy loads of vegetables, even though they'll just go rotten, so we might as well use them up before they do.”

"I don't want to eat yet,” Draco said, putting away the sheets and standing up. “There's somewhere I need to go.”

Harry watched Draco's movements carefully. “Alone?”

Draco shook his head. “No.”

Swallowing, Harry nodded. “Okay.”

When they left the flat, Draco locked the door, making Harry smile a little at the normality. How long had he wanted to see Draco outside the confines of his cell? Now, he could. Even if there would be consequences, for now it was hard not to feel happy.

Again they could have used the Floo or Apparated, but they decided to walk instead. As they walked past a row of houses, Harry heard Draco sigh. “What?”

"You don't have to keep doing that,” Draco said, frowning slightly, but facing ahead.

"Doing what?” Harry asked, puzzled.

"Watching me,” Draco clarified. “I'm fine. You don't need to keep checking up on me.”

"Sorry,” Harry mumbled, scratching the back of his head, embarrassed. Draco made an irritated noise.

"I don't _mind_ ,” he said. “It's just stupid. You don't need to.” He huffed again, looking away, and missing the surprised smile on Harry's face.

"Sorry,” Harry said again, not sounding particularly sorry. “You're not having any side-effects then?”

Draco gave him a flat look. “It's only been a day.” When Harry persisted, he relented. “I have a slight headache.”

Immediately, Harry panicked. “You do? Why didn't you tell me? Is it bad? Rate it, on a scale of one to ten. Do you want me to get Pansy?” Draco punched him in the shoulder, but not hard. Despite this, Harry looked affronted, holding his jaw and glaring. “Well excuse me for _caring_.”

"I said a _slight_ headache,” Draco said, unperturbed as they continued walking. “It could be caused by something entirely different. Like your continuous whining.”

"Hey-”

"Regardless of the cause,” Draco continued, “it's a thousand times better than being in prison.”

"Oh,” Harry said lamely, his face falling a bit. “I guess.”

Snorting, Draco gave him a sceptical look. “You guess? You were there, you saw.” His face momentarily darkened. “Being free, even with the conditions...it feels so...” Draco took a deep breath, a slight smile tugging his mouth as he closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them again, he frowned at Harry’s blatant staring. “What did I just say?”

"Sorry,” Harry said, utterly unrepentant. “Couldn't help it.”

The smile that briefly crossed Draco's features disappeared a few minutes later, as they reached their destination, stopping in front of the iron gates. Draco was the one that stepped forward, pushing it open and walking inside. His eyes were red. Harry followed silently.

They walked through the spacious front gardens, past the artfully-cut hedges and a row of tended flowers and bushes. Occasionally Draco would stop and look at something for long moments, or veer off track to run his fingers down a potted plant, or along a window ledge, eyes narrowed as he took in little details. Harry followed diligently, keeping a fair distance behind him, giving Draco his space.

Eventually, by the time the moon was high in the sky, covering everything in a cool glow, Draco stopped in front of the doorstep.

"Do you want to go in?” Harry whispered. “I'll wait.”

Draco shook his head. He stared at the Manor, long and hard, focus never wavering for a second. After some time, when the cool of the night started to curl around them, Draco let out a long breath.

"Come on,” Draco said, backing away and walking down the steps back to the front. 

Harry wondered what it felt like to walk away from your home. But he didn't speak as he followed Draco out, afraid to break the silence between them, leaving Draco to do so when he was ready.

"I'm selling it,” Draco said abruptly, as they turned the corner back towards the flat. “The Ministry offered to buy it. I could use the money, and soon enough it's not going to mean anything to me.”

"You don't need to explain that to me,” Harry said quietly.

Draco looked momentarily surprised, then nodded. “I hope they burn it,” he whispered, so quietly that Harry nearly missed it.

As they neared the flat, Harry started to fidget slightly, rubbing the back of his neck and running his hands through his hair so that it stood up on end, until Draco glared at him.

Collecting himself, Harry waited until they were through the door to speak. “Draco, about last week. That day...” Draco looked at him sharply as he slipped off his shoes, closing the door. “I said some things.”

"Forget it,” Draco said briskly, moving to the kitchen, hearing Harry follow him. “I said things too.”

"Yeah but, you were stuck in prison, and you were right it-”

Draco cut him off with a quick but firm kiss. “Forget it,” he said seriously, leaning his head against Harry's for a second, so his grey eyes dominated Harry’s vision. “I don't want to spend any more time on the past.”

*

"Aahh, Draco,” Harry panted, head back against the wall as Draco moved his mouth along the warm, soft skin of his neck. There was something about the position, the vulnerability and the trust, that made Harry shiver. Blindly, he reached out, weaving his fingers into Draco's pale hair and shuddering as Draco made a pleased noise, the sound vibrating against his damp skin.

They hadn't been close like this for months -not since their month-long journey- and to do so now, in _their_ flat, was so far removed from anything Harry associated with Draco that it felt surreal. Harry hadn't wanted to rush, but today, they had eaten lunch, been halfway through washing up, when Harry had looked up and caught Draco's eyes looking right back at him.

Seconds later, he found himself pushed against a wall, kissing Draco like it was all he knew how to do, like if he stopped, if they lost contact for a second, something terrible would happen.

Suddenly seized with an urge to see his partner's face, Harry pulled gently at Draco's hair, bringing him away from where he was licking Harry's collarbone, the hand that wasn't curled around his neck having head down to palm Harry's erection to life. Draco gave a little squeeze, making Harry groan, before raising his head slightly, his breaths coming fast.

Harry slid his hands down to either side of Draco's face, holding him there, feeling puffs of air against his lips. Harry sucked it in greedily, making Draco squint at him. “What the hell are you doing?” he asked, his words soft as he dipped his head slightly to lick along Harry's parted lips.

"Don't know,” Harry breathed, closing his eyes momentarily. “We should go to the bedroom.”

In answer, Draco wound his hands into Harry's hair, guiding his head so that they could continue kissing, even while walking. They managed two steps, before Draco tripped and nearly fell, catching himself on the door frame just in time. Harry, able to brace himself against Draco, remained upright and laughing. Draco scowled and snaked a hand between them and giving him a few hard pumps that effectively knocked all traces of amusement off Harry's face and made his final chuckle turn into a yelp.

With a dark look, Draco untangled himself and stalked towards the bedroom, reaching in time for Harry to tackle him, making them fall once again, thankfully landing on the futon.

"That hurt, idiot,” Draco said into Harry's hair, arms wrapped around him as he rubbed the small of his back before pushing his top up and moving against skin.

"I’m sorry,” Harry mumbled into Draco's neck, watching with wonder as the skin formed goosebumps. Somehow, it seemed strange that Draco got goosebumps, that his skin was so warm, that when Harry moved his hand to the front of his chest, he could feel Draco's heartbeat, strong against his palm. “Draco...I...”

"Hmm?” Draco muttered, shifting down and maneuvering Harry up a little, so they were face to face. “What?”

Harry looked surprised, having forgotten what he had said. “I don't know,” he said stupidly, grinning widely at the expression on Draco's face.

"Moron,” Draco sighed as Harry leaned down, forearms braced on either side of Draco's head, holding his weight.

Gently, he brushed his lips against Draco's once, twice, then moved back, studying them carefully, mapping their appearance to what they felt like when pressed against his. “Draco?”

"What?” Draco grunted, bringing his knees up a little so Harry could rest comfortably between his legs.

"What does my mouth taste like?” Harry asked, eyes fixed on Draco's lips.

"Nothing,” Draco said, “you just taste like you.”

"That doesn't,” Harry paused to latch onto Draco's neck, intent on leaving a mark, “make any sense.” He lifted himself briefly, trying to get some air between them as he felt his skin start to stick to his clothes, but fell back down quickly, unwilling to let there be any distance between him and Draco.

"Then what do I taste like?” Draco asked, between gasps. “Hey, what are you trying to do? Draw blood?”

"Maybe,” Harry said, giving the bite a firm lick and smiling at it. “I dunno what you taste like. Sort of... warm.”

"That's not a taste, moron,” Draco said. When he saw that Harry was about to speak again, he quickly thrust his hips up, signalling the time for conversation was over. Harry seemed to whole-heartedly agree, letting a gasp fall from his lips, followed by a low whine as he ground down, trying to create the same sensation.

Their kisses became a little sloppy, Harry pushed Draco's shirt up to lick and tease at his nipples, pausing and shuddering when the feeling between their hips became too overwhelming. Draco kept pushing and pushing, and at some point Harry found himself panting into his shoulder, too out of it, completely focused on the pleasurable throbbing that was engulfing him, to notice anything that wasn't the frenzied slide of Draco's arousal against his.

"Draco,” Harry found himself gasping. “Draco...” He had no idea why he was saying it, only that it was the only thing that his lust-ridden mind could comprehend right now; the body moving insistently against his, and the person that Harry was...that he’s in...

With that thought, Harry tensed, his eyes squeezing shut as he gave one last shuddering thrust and gasped at the intensity of his release. His body went boneless, his vision grey and spotty as he came down, each of Draco's upward grinds creating pleasurable aftershocks until he too finished, shivering and panting against Harry's ear.

After a few blissful seconds, spent floating on sensation, Draco pressed weakly on his hip, signalling that he wanted Harry to move, making him roll back, so they laid side by side. Ignoring his exhaustion, and the sticky wetness they had created, before falling asleep, Harry forced his eyes open. He watched as Draco's breathing evened out, his face perfectly relaxed, and memorised it.

And then, just as he was mapping the freckles on Draco’s face, he remembered what he kept on trying to say a while ago. _If I tell you now that I love you,_ Harry thought forlornly, _would you still remember it after?_

*

The first time it happened, Harry's blood froze in his veins.

It was a typical day. Draco was happy-not that it was obvious to anyone but Harry –because it had been four weeks since his release, and The Wizengamot had declared that he could start his training at the Auror department immediately in order to help catch the remaining Death Eaters on the loose. Harry decided to join as well. They had spent the majority of the day alternatively sparring and lying flat on the ground, exhausted, until their easy banter turned to insults, and a fight resulted. Towards the end, their fighting had taken a different twist, leading to an extremely satisfying make out session.

They were walking back to the flat, Harry still grinning because Draco hadn’t noticed the hickey he’d left, and chattering about how he kicked Draco’s ass, when he spotted Neville, walking down the road in their direction, hands in his pockets.

"Neville!,” Harry crowed, making Draco wince at the volume. “What’s up?” Neville seemed similarly put out by the interruption, but indulged Harry with a short conversation, before leaving, claiming he had to do some “troublesome” errands.

Grinning more than ever, Harry resumed walking, with Draco at his side. Draco had actually shrugged when Neville directed a question at him, which was definitely a move forward.

"I bet he won’t get any errands done,” Harry babbled, then gave Draco a sly glance. “I’m sure he’s on his way to Pansy’s right now.”

Draco said nothing. Harry elbowed him conspiratorially. “Did you know that? I mean, Pansy, your best friend, and Neville! Unbelievable, right? Poor Hannah.”

Giving him a blank stare, Draco shoved weakly at the elbow. “Who?”

"Hannah Abbott.” Harry frowned. “Hufflepuff. Same year as us. Ringing any bells?”

To Harry's surprise, Draco's eyebrows pulled together. “Hufflepuff?”

"It’s her House.” Harry said, puzzled now. “I swear I thought they were dating back at Hogwarts.”

"House...” Draco murmured quietly, seemingly addressed more to himself than to Harry.

"I know you’re a ponce, but I didn’t realize that you’ll be a snob to those who don’t belong to the same House as yours.” Harry cried, exasperated. “How could you forget something like tha-” He stopped as soon as he realised what he was saying; stopped talking, stopped walking, just stopped and stared without seeing anything except the little mound of hope he had been quietly building in the past four weeks be swept away into dust on the wind.

Suddenly on the same page, Draco stopped too. “No,” he said forcefully. “No. I never even spoke to her. Why would I remember?” Harry said nothing, too strung out to process the denials, so Draco punched him in the shoulder, demanding attention in a way that was as desperate as the lost expression on his face. “Hey, it's not _that_.”

Though he was scowling, Harry knew better than to think he was angry; this was fear. “Sure,” Harry managed to rasp out, agreeing because there was nothing else to do. “Sure. People forget stuff all the time. It doesn't mean anything.” He laughed, trying to be reassuring, and carried on walking.

By the time they got home, Harry started talking again, chattering about nothing in particular. He talked so much that Draco didn't manage a word, which was the idea, because everytime Draco opened his mouth, Harry feared what he might say.

*

"You sure you won’t use the Floo? You’ll be fine walking by yourself back home?” Andromeda asked just as Harry closed the door behind him. He’d just made Teddy take his afternoon nap, and the house was finally quiet.

“Draco’s at home. Pansy's giving him this week's treatment,” Harry said without enthusiasm. He wasn't sure when Draco’s flat became a home, but he was all too aware of its lacking permanence and so used the term as much as possible, while he still could.

"You don't want to be there?” Andromeda enquired politely. 

"I don't like thinking about it,” Harry said with a shrug. When Andromeda didn't say anything, he added: “It's been six weeks already.”

"Hmm,” Andromeda acknowledged. “And how are you doing?”

Harry frowned, puzzled. “Shouldn't you be asking how Draco is?” he wondered out loud.

Andromeda gave him a smile. “For Draco, right now, there is no present. Soon enough he won't remember me, so it's pointless to waste time on something that doesn't exist.”

Trying to muddle through the words just confused Harry more, although he felt that he should be upset on Draco's behalf. “I don't understand.”

Andromeda looked at him with something akin to pity. She reached out one hand and ruffled the top of Harry's hair.

"No,” she said quietly. “I wouldn't expect you to.”

*

"It's just a headache,” Draco said, when Harry found him sitting on the edge of the sofa, head cradled between his hands. But Harry knew Draco, and knew that for him to have admitted there was a problem meant he was in a lot of pain. Harry knew this, not because he was the one who healed Draco's wounds, sat by his bedside and traced the scars with the tip of one finger, but because he did the exact same thing.

So Harry locked the door, closed all the curtains in the apartment and then brought a pillow to the couch. In the comforting darkness, he set it in his lap and made Draco lie back, and Draco’s immediate compliance gave testament to the severity of his condition.

"This is stupid,” Draco said, when Harry laid tentative fingers on his temples. “You're going to make it worse.”

"Shhh,” Harry said, ignoring him. His head was tipped forward, so that he could see Draco properly, his hair falling downwards as he moved his hands curiously, with far more gentleness than he would have thought possible. “Let me,” he said, and Draco let him, willing to take any distraction over the pain throbbing in his head, and lulled by the womb-like darkness of the apartment, and the surprising coolness of Harry's fingertips.

"Did you take the medication Pansy left?” Harry asked quietly, his fingers moving, probing skin, rubbing slow little circles. He didn't want to ask; talking about the treatment had become taboo, except when it was unavoidable. Words like 'forget' and 'memory' had been scratched out of Harry's vocabulary, and whenever he accidentally faltered and said one, he felt like he was wavering at the top of a steep cliff.

"It doesn't help,” Draco said after a few seconds. Harry's touch was surprisingly light and relaxing, in comparison to his usual all consuming, fiery touches. Occasionally he paused to brush the fingers of one hand through Draco's hair in gentle, firm strokes.

Slowly, the warm, comforting waves that emanated from Harry's contact lessened the pain, Draco's breathing became more relaxed and his eyelids stopped fluttering. “Better?” Harry asked.

"Mmm,” Draco said, unwilling to move too much, to disturb the mood. Harry hummed a little, pleased and changing his motions, going from rubbing to tracing the lines of Draco's face with his fingers.

*

After a time, Draco opened his eyes to see Harry staring at him strangely, as though just looking long and hard would do something. One of his hands was in Draco’s hair, the thumb rubbing up and down gently, while the other rested on his stomach, radiating heat. Draco's headache was gone.“What?”

"Draco,” Harry started, tipping his head slightly and stilling the movement of his hand momentarily. “Have you ever had sex?”

Draco's eyes widened at the question, especially given their current position, but there was nothing sexual in the touches, no tension in the air or hunger in Harry's eyes, just gentle, gentle curiosity. He considered for a second before answering. “No.”

There was no surprise in Harry's expression, just acceptance, and some sort of thought going on just under the surface. “Me either. There was a pause in which Harry went back to gently rubbing his thumb against Draco's scalp, and Draco let his eyes drift shut. “Do you want to?”

Harry asked the question like it was nothing, like it was the most casual thing in the world, but when Draco opened his eyes, he could see the nervousness in Harry's features. “Sex?” Draco echoed, although it would be false to say he hadn't had suspicions when Harry brought the subject up.

Harry coughed, stumbling over his words. “Yeah. I mean, us. We don't have to, if you don't want to, but I thought-”

"Of course I _want_ to,” Draco said, frowning as he sat up and turned himself around to face Harry better.

"Right.” Harry coughed again. “Well. We could. Then. Uhm.” The hand that had fallen out of Draco's hair when he sat up was clenched in his lap. Harry stared at the coffee table.

"Why?” Draco asked, watching Harry's expression carefully.

"Just, because. We might not have that much time.” The last few words came out in a rush, and Harry brought his face up to look Draco in the eye, desperation lacing his features.

"Harry,” Draco said slowly. “I'm not going anywhere.”

"I know that,” Harry said, his words practically a whisper, “but I am.”

*

Late that night, as the owls hooted and crickets chirruped outside their window, Harry and Draco had sex. It took a while to get started, they kept getting stalled at awkward points; the mood that was usually so desperate seemed stilted, with the usual passion absent. But slowly, carefully, they fell into a rhythm they both enjoyed, and then it was suddenly over far too soon.

Afterwards, they lay panting, side by side, letting their bodies cool and listening to the way their breathing fell into synchronization, and then back out. Absorbing what they had done, and what it meant, and trying to work out if things were different now, and if they weren't, why not.

"Pansy says you won't remember me,” Harry said finally, releasing the words into the cool night air. “She says that your memory of me is too tied into your past. She says that in the best case scenario, I wont get wiped out, you'll remember me as your acquaintance, but you won't remember any of the things we've done together.” Harry let out a wet noise that might have been a sob. “I don't know how that's the best case scenario.”

Rolling sluggishly onto his side, Draco saw Harry looking at him pleadingly, his eyes shiny in the light from the window. Draco reached out a hand between them, landing on Harry's wrist and moving down to lace their fingers together in a gesture that would have made him cringe, but it was Harry - _it was just Harry_ \- and somehow that made it alright.

"Harry,” Draco said very slowly and clearly, “I won't forget you. I promise.” Harry produced a watery smile and pulled on their joined hands, tugging Draco towards him. He came willingly, obligingly letting Harry wind around him, his warm, somewhat clammy skin press against his, and Harry's scent engulfed him.

Minutes trickled by. Gradually, Harry's grip on him grew slightly more relaxed, the breaths into his hair evened, deepened. The air cooled, the noises outside grew fewer, and Draco's eyes stayed open, staring unseeing at the ceiling.

Eventually he untangled himself carefully from Harry and stood, managing to pull the sheets out from underneath him and lay back down, draping them over the two of them. As Draco settled back down, lying on his back, feeling the soreness of his muscles, thinking that they should have showered, and now he couldn't find it in himself to do so, Harry shifted slightly.

"I lied,” Draco said in a low voice. He didn't look at Harry, just carried on staring at the ceiling. “When you asked me what my favourite memory was, and I said I didn't have one. I lied.” He glanced at Harry, lying peacefully on his side, no worry in his expression, and couldn't resist reaching out a hand to run down his arm, feeling the soft hairs and warm, solid muscle. “When you saved me from Fiendfyre. When you willingly risked your life to save mine. I don’t think you realize the gravity of what you’ve done for me.” Draco faltered for a second, wetting his lips and continuing. “For one moment, I felt like my life was more important to you than anything else. I was going to die, and it was okay.” Draco let out a low, shuddering breath. “That's my favourite memory. Even when I tried to forget it, I couldn't.” He paused. “But I'd give it up, if I could keep you.” He turned slightly, slinking closer to Harry, trying to forget himself in the warmth, the soft rise and fall of his chest. “So I'm giving it to you,” Draco whispered, “ as sentimental and stupid as that is. Keep it safe.”

Satisfied, Draco closed his eyes, pressing his face into the crook of Harry's neck and sighing, feeling a hundred years old as he surrendered to sleep.

In his dreams, the tears that fell on his skin turned to rain at the foot of a waterfall.

*

One sunny afternoon, as Pansy was leaving the apartment that Harry and Draco shared, she was surprised to see Harry sitting on the banister that ran around the apartment block, one leg pulled up and the other hanging down. What surprised her was that when he saw her, he raised a finger to his lips, prompting her to stay quiet.

She closed the door, watching as he jumped lightly down from the banister and beckoned her, walking briskly to the end of the hallway and taking the stairs down. Obediently, she followed, waiting until they got out of the complex before talking.

"Harry, what's going on?” she asked, falling into step with him, noting the frown on his face.

"How was Draco?” Harry asked, mouth twisted to the side. Pansy blinked.

"His treatment was fine, there don't seem to be any complications,” she said slowly. “Why?”

"He didn't say anything?” Harry asked, clearly irritated, “I knew it. I _told_ him to ask for something for the headaches.”

"He's still having headaches?” Pansy frowned, fingers itching to take out the file she kept on Draco to write down this new development. “But I gave him some medicine.”

"I make him take it, but he says it doesn't work,” Harry said with a shrug, staring off into the distance. The sides of his mouth pulled down. “He says it's nothing though, you know how he is.”

"I see,” Pansy said evenly as they walked down the main street. “Have you noticed anything else? The treatment's in its fifteenth week,” she hesitated, glancing at Harry's face before continuing. “He should be completing soon, but I haven't noticed anything, and when I ask...”

"He denies it,” Harry finished for her, fists clenched, his knuckles white. “Typical Draco.” He let out a sigh. “He has headaches, sometimes it's nothing more than an irritation, and sometimes he can't even stand. And I heard him throwing up the other night, but he brushed it off.”

"Nausea,” Pansy said thoughtfully, nodding to herself. “I can see why that could happen. I can give him something.” She looking up at Harry, “anything else?”

Sighing, Harry kicked at the ground, keeping his eyes down. “He forgets,” he said softly. “Small things, tiny details. It's hard to tell, because he hides it so damn well, but sometimes,” harry ran a hand over his face, tired. “Sometimes I'll be talking and I see something pass behind his eyes.”

"Harry...” Pansy looked at him with pity. It was an emotion he was getting sick of seeing on the faces of his friends.

"Whatever,” he shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets in a show of bravado. “It's not important. Can you get something for the headaches?”

"I put him on a high dosage already,” Pansy said, biting her lip. “I know he lies about how much pain he's in, so I went straight ahead. The thing is, the headaches are just going to get worse and worse until he completes.”

Harry stared at her in dismay. “You mean you can't do _anything_?” His raised voice caused a few stares in their direction, and noticing, Pansy grabbed his wrist, pulling him into a quieter side street and sitting down on a low wall. Harry stood, but she didn't complain.

"The reason Draco is getting the headaches,” she started slowly, keeping her head down so that her dark hair fell straight. “It's because his brain is trying to shut down his memories of the past, and you keep reminding him of them. Everytime he sees you, he's faced with a truth his mind is trying to deny. It stops him from completing, and the resultant tension gives the headaches.”

"So you're saying, the reason Draco's in pain is me?” Harry looked shocked, and somehow hurt. Pansy didn't answer immediately, turning her watery eyes down, but when she spoke her voice was firm.

"Harry, you're going to have to make a choice about what you want to do.” She stood, one hand brushing down his shoulder to briefly squeeze his hand. Harry squeezed back, his strong fingers curled around her delicate ones, then released her, taking a few steps away.

"Pansy,” he said, giving her a smile as brittle as shards of glass, “the choices I have to make have _nothing_ to do with what I want.”

*

The lights were off when Harry came home one evening. Considering that Draco might have a headache, Harry closed the door carefully, so it made no noise when it shut. Slipping off his sandals, he checked the bedroom, finding it empty.

The kitchen looked like it had been attacked, and put up a damn good fight. Most of the cupboards were open, one pulled off its hinge. The counters were covered in food, half made meals, and pots. A bag of rice with a rip in it sagged in one corner, a landslide of shiny grains seeping out. Sitting next to it, with his knees pulled up to his chin and his left hand embracing a bottle, was Draco.

"Hey,” Harry said, for lack of anything else to say. He took a step forward, and upon hearing the crack and looking down, realised he had stepped onto half of a plate. “What's-” he took another step forward and stopped as the scent of alcohol, pungent and edgy hit him full face.

"I can't remember,” Draco whispered. Harry flinched, actually flinched, at the word, feeling it pull at his gut and send ice through his veins.

"What-”

"I can't remember,” Draco said again, but this time harsher, louder, and with a slur that made Harry reassess how strong the contents of that bottle must be. “I can't _fucking_ remember.”

One, two, three steps and Harry reached Draco, kneeling next to him, ignoring the crumbs of something that dug into his skin. The fridge was open, its humming filled the whole room. A bottle of something was dripping in there, hitting the white shelf with a splat. Harry swallowed. “Remember what?”

There was silence as Draco took a long drink, slamming the bottle back down like a punishment. “The recipe. For yakisoba. I can't remember it.”

"Did you write it down?” Harry ventured, eyeing Draco as if he was a cobra that might lash out at any second.

"No,” Draco said. “I've been making it for years. I had it memorised.” There was that word again. Harry felt his stomach take another swoop. “And now I can't remember.”

On the floor adjacent to Draco's left foot, was a head of lettuce with a knife sticking out of it. Harry sat down. “I'm sure we could get another recipe.”

Draco made an abortive noise in his throat, his grip on the bottle tightening to the extent that Harry was worried he'd snap its neck and cut himself. He reached forward to take the bottle but stopped at Draco's words. “No I can't. It was my mother's recipe. It tasted just like the one she made.”

"Oh.” Harry sat back heavily.

"Yeah,” Draco said. “But you know, that doesn't matter.” His cavalier attitude was enforced by the purposeful swig of alcohol he took. “You know why?”

Harry didn't know, and he didn't want to. “Why?”

"Because,” Draco leaned in conspiratorially, his hair scratching against Harry's cheek, and the alcohol on his breath sharp and tangible, “pretty soon I won't remember what it tasted like anyway.” Draco sat back, his laughter acting as a poor veil for his desperation. Utterly unable to tear his gaze away, Harry watched as the torn, harsh laughs subsided and Draco took another deep drink, staring moodily at the bottle.

"Draco..”

"Don't.” The white of Draco's teeth glimmered in the dim light. “Just don't.”

"You don't know what I'm going to say,” Harry replied, watching as Draco’s fingers flexed and relaxed around the bottle.

"I do,” Draco said. “I know you. I know what you're going to say, so just don't. It's too late. I made my choice. The Ministry wouldn't let me back out now anyway.” The last part was just added on, just a little wistful strand of nothing, but it caused tiny whirlpools to twist inside of Harry, as emotions and thoughts from the far reaches of his mind and spirit came to play.

"You-Draco, you don't have to,” he said, seizing onto that little bit of hope. “Listen, I can talk to Shacklebolt, it might take a while, but you don't have to-”

Laughter again hit his ears, utterly devoid of amusement. “Yeah, right. The Ministry would throw me back in jail and there'd be nothing you or your Minister could do about it. And this time there'd be no way out.” Draco shivered at the thought, shoulders curling in on themselves.

"Then,” Harry paused, tasting the words, rolling them around his tongue to gauge whether or not he could say them. “Then we can leave.” He lowered his voice, brought his face close to Draco's. “We can just go. Your strength is coming back and I'd be there too. We could just go.”

Draco didn't turn his head to look at Harry, just moved his eyes to lock gazes. “This is your home, Harry. This is your past, present and future. You won’t leave it.”

"I would for you.”

The corner of Draco's mouth lifted in a weak facsimile of a smile. “And when they send your friends after us? Will you hold back and run the risk of us being caught, or go all out and live with their blood on your hands?” The smile dropped away. “You wouldn't do that. And I wouldn't let you.” He frowned, reaching up to rub at his temple. Automatically, Harry batted his hand away and replaced it with his own, rubbing small, soothing circles. Draco looked irritated, but it fell away into resignation quickly, and he didn't attempt to stop him.

"Things keep getting messy,” Draco muttered at length. “In my head. It's like I've got two images and they keep flickering in and out. I keep losing the details, and it's getting harder and harder to know which one's right, and which one's made up.”

His breath hitching slightly, Harry struggled to keep his fingers from trembling. “Did you tell Pansy?”

"Why would I?” Draco asked, eyes closed. “That's what's supposed to happen. I just didn't think it would be like this.”

Hearing those words made Harry want to shout. Made him want to ask what exactly Draco had thought it would be like. Wanted to punish Draco for doing this to both of them. Most of all he wanted Draco, the one that was strong and fierce and burned so much brighter than the tired, resigned being in front of him.

"What memories- which ones?” Harry asked, instead.

Draco lifted his shoulder in a half hearted little shrug. “Too many. Growing up with my family. My time at Hogwarts. The War. It's all blurry.”

"So much...” Harry didn't mean to say it, but the words came out, and then hung accusingly in the air.

"Yeah.”

At some point, they had shifted so that Draco was leaning on Harry, his bottle abandoned for now on the floor, while Harry's fingers had moved to run lightly up and down his arm, blazing a trail of barely-there sensation from his elbow to his hands.

The something dripping out of the fridge made another splat sound. Harry breathed in. “We first met at Madam Malkin’s. You were such a ponce back then already. But my first thought of seeing you was that you were the most beautiful boy I’ve ever seen. I think you haven’t heard any muggle stories, but to me you were like the prince charming in those fairy tales. And then you opened your mouth and ruined everything.” Harry laughed; he couldn’t help it. “And then there was that handshake I declined. I realized I may have been too rash at my actions and had set a prejudice on you early on as this pureblood prat, but it was already too late. Fighting with you was far easier, and less complicated.” He took another breath, and continued. “Then there was time at the Forbidden Forest, when you were terrified but you didn’t want to admit it. Then that Wizard’s Duel with Professor Lockhart. I wouldn’t forget our ‘Scared Potter’ and “You Wish’ exchange. We were both pricks. Then you bought your way in the Quidditch. But I haven’t told you that you were really good at it. You deserved to be on the team.” Harry wanted to stop, but he couldn’t. He needed to say it all out loud. “Then there was that year where you drew a sketch of me being hit by lightning. Nice portrayal of my hair by the way. And then you tried to scare me off with a dementor. When you made those ‘Potter Stinks’ badges. When you climbed a tree for me, you’re such a drama queen. I--” He was out of breath already, and Draco stopped his tirade with a raised hand.

“Harry. I remember all of that. So don’t worry.”

 _'If you could forget everything else, then what does that tell me?’_ Harry wanted to say. Except he already knew the answer.

"Go on,” Draco said, quietly, not begging, not demanding. Just pressing himself that little bit closer to Harry and closing his eyes again.

And Harry did. He talked about their days at Hogwarts. He complained about how irritating Draco always was. A couple of times, Draco laughed. A couple of times he grinned, agreed, even added a detail Harry hadn't remembered.

But that didn't make up for the times that Draco went quiet, tucked his head down and said in a small, wavering, furious voice: _“I don't remember.”_

*

During the twentieth week of his treatment, Draco awoke to soft fingers trailing up his arm. His mind felt cloudy, and as he opened his eyes, he struggled to get a grip on his thoughts, feeling them pull away from him, escaping like a fluid dream.

Blinking sleepily, the image of Harry came into focus, looking at him seriously. From the light, Draco surmised that it wasn't quite morning, or at least, quite a bit earlier than he usually woke up. He didn't recall waking up the previous night, so assumed it had passed nausea free, and was grateful. Even his ever present headache that now refused to be calmed by anything was hardly pronounced, just a quite throbbing that was easily ignored.

"Hey,” he said to Harry, propping himself up a little and rubbing his face. Harry waited until he settled, before resuming his motion, brushing his fingers along the soft skin of his forearm, a brief swirl at his elbow and then upwards, drawing waves over his bicep. His blue eyes watched the motions, eyebrows slightly pulled together, as though deep in thought.

"Hey,” Harry returned. Draco waited for him to say something else, but he didn't. Just continued the slow movement of his fingers, drawing an invisible line down Draco's collarbone, brushing a thumb over his sternum.

"Harry?” Draco rubbed his eyes again, trying to gather himself. Normally when he woke, he was more alert. He shifted again, feeling the sheet slip on him. That he wasn't wearing anything occurred to him, and he felt his heart rate increase just a little. He felt suddenly self-conscious, which was ludicrous, because the situation was hardly a novel experience by now, and yet he couldn't mistake the fluttering in his stomach for anything else. It had something to do with the way Harry was looking at him. The way he was looking, not talking, as though the dips and swells of Draco's body were a secret language and Harry was reading it. And at the same time, as if Harry was contemplating something far removed from their bed and the warm sheets, and the grey watery light filtering through the gap in the curtains; something that Draco had no part in.

Harry's fingertips were rough and yet gentle as they brushed over Draco's throat, making him swallow reflexively. When the touches reached his eyes, he closed them obligingly, letting Harry feel the soft skin of his eyelids and the skittish movement of his eyes underneath as he tried to keep them still. “Draco,” he heard Harry sigh just before he opened his eyes, feeling Harry stroke down the side of his face. Draco had heard Harry say his name before, shouts and screams and desperate cries and even softly, late at night when Harry thought he was asleep, but never _quite_ like that before. Like just seeing Draco was tearing Harry apart, and like he never wanted to stop looking.

"What?” Draco found his throat was dry and swallowed again, trying to moisten it. He felt like Harry had gotten closer, but when he looked down, the strip of sheets lay between them, the same as it had before.

He was about to ask again, although he didn't have a clue what the hell he was asking, when Harry spoke.

"Head Auror Robards wants to send me off with a group of Aurors at the MACUSA. He said that it was for experience, among other things.” His eyes didn't leave Draco's but his frown was replaced with an untouchable kind of sadness.

"For long?” He asked the question, already knowing the answer.

"Yeah.” Harry's breath fanned his cheek. “Two, maybe three weeks.”

"Oh.” Draco felt like the time span was very significant, like there was an event taking place, like something would have changed by the time Harry got back, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. He did know that he didn't want Harry to go. That if Harry walked out of their bedroom, out of the apartment, and out of the London today, something very bad would happen. 

Draco considered this. “I'll miss you.” The words sounded awkward, unused, on his tongue.

Green eyes clouded, became shiny as Harry's features fought against collapse. “No you won't.”

Before Draco could adequately process this, Harry reached out and guided their faces together, capturing him in a short, sweet kiss, like he was closing a deal. Draco thought he tasted salt, but Harry's eyes were dry when he saw them for a second, before their positions changed and Harry was much closer, pressing his nose into the patch of skin behind Draco's ear, close to his hairline and inhaling deeply. “Not enough,” he said, his breath damp against Draco's neck, causing goosebumps. “It's not.”

Draco found himself pulled onto his back, Harry draped over him, kissing the side of his mouth, fingers dragging along his neck, cupping his shoulders and eliminating all distance between them. For once, Draco felt overwhelmed, trying to respond to all the stimuli, to the soft drag of Harry's tongue against his skin, the calloused pads of his fingers, the nails digging in and then releasing, and he almost didn't notice the tears until Harry pulled back and looked at him, his expression twisted up.

"Wha-?” Harry reached down and swept his finger under Draco's eyes, and then following it up, as if automatically, with his tongue. "Why're you crying?”

Draco blinked. "I don't know,” he said truthfully. He hated crying. He would never cry in front of Harry. And yet he couldn't stop the tears- couldn't even identify why he felt like his heart was being ripped in two.

Harry kissed the edge of Draco's eye, his lips slipping a little on the moisture there, tongue lapping it up. “I hate this.” His voice seemed to rumble right through Draco. “I hate this so much.”

When their mouths met again, there was a desperation leading them, making them twist and bite and writhe, trying to find escape in each other. Draco arched up against Harry, holding his shoulders, his back, trying to stay steady against the onslaught of emotion and sensation he was feeling.

"Draco, look at me,” Harry panted, licking and biting against Draco's neck before moving up to meet his eye, his forearm propping himself up while his other hand rubbed gently at the skin on his hipbone. “Draco.”

Opening his eyes felt like the hardest thing to do, but Draco managed, breath catching at the intensity of Harry's gaze. He stretched up, wanting more contact, but Harry pressed him back down the hand on his hip squeezing in warning, so he fell back down, breathing heavily.

"What matters is that right now, you remember me. That you remember us.”

"I remember,” Draco murmured, bucking and pressing up into Harry's hand, his head thrown back as he twisted this way and that. “I remember.”

*

"How are you feeling, Draco?” Pansy asked carefully, sitting across from him, clipboard in hand.

"Fine.” Draco looked out of the window, it was sunny today. The treatment hadn't taken long. His mind felt clear.

"No headaches?” Pansy ventured, the tapping of her pen against the table the only noise in the kitchen.

"No, they've gone,” Draco said. Pansy nodded to herself, eyes downcast.

"Yes, that makes sense.” She scribbled something on her paper. In front of her was a large grey box, stamped onto which Draco recognised the Ministry symbol. He tilted his head, something niggling at the back of his mind. “I'll make up your drink.”

Frowning, Draco nodded, watching as Pansy opened the box, pulling out a familiar flask which she put on the table.

"Why do you keep doing that?” she asked, mixing the contents of the flask.

"Doing what?”

"Looking at the door, you're doing it now.”

Turning back to her, Draco realised she was right. He tried to concentrate on her, but like he was being pulled in that direction, he kept wanting to turn to look at the door. “I don't know why I'm doing it.”

Pansy's eyes were slightly narrowed. “Are you sure?”

Something tugged on his memory, and Draco felt the beginnings of a headache start at the back of his skull. There was something about sitting with Pansy, like this, and the door-

"It seems like you're waiting for someone,” Pansy said. The pain in his head intensified.

"Who would I be waiting for?” Draco asked, irritation growing out of his confusion. He rubbed a hand against his right temple.

"Who indeed.” Pansy stared at the table a moment. “This is going to be your last treatment Draco. After you drink that, you'll have completed it.”

"Right,” said Draco, trying very hard not to look at the door. There was something...

"It's been twenty two weeks,” Pansy continued. “You'll be happy to be finished.”

"Yeah.” Draco was finding it difficult to pay attention, but looked up in surprise when she stood to leave. “You're going?”

"Yes,” Pansy said firmly, closing the box and lifting it, leaving the drink on the table. “I have an appointment at the hospital.

"But,” Draco frowned, feeling disjointed, “you always stay and make sure I have the drink.”

"Yes, I do, don't I?” said Pansy vaguely, walking to the door. “But I've got to go, and I'm sure you'll do the right thing.”

There was something wrong with what Pansy was saying, something about what she was saying, that he should pay attention to, Draco thought as Pansy said her goodbye and left.

On the table, the drink was waiting. He was supposed to have it, Draco knew. That was part of his treatment. ( _What was the treatment for again? He knew, but he couldn't quite-_ )

Draco lifted the flask and walked over to the window. It was sunny outside, and the sky was a clear, bright blue. And yet, and yet-

The pounding in his head was making spots dance in his vision. Had he been waiting for someone? ( _Why had no one come?)_ Who...?

Draco leaned on the counter, squeezing his eyes shut. Why did he feel like this? He hadn't had a headache since-

Since-

_”I trust you to do the right thing.”_

He poured the contents of the flask down the drain and watched them swirl away.

Maybe. Maybe he had been waiting for someone.

_But who?_

Draco couldn't remember.

**Author's Note:**

> ADDITIONAL TAGS: Memory loss, Ambiguous/Open Ending
> 
> (Although maybe not too open, As Draco hadn't took the potion and he'll most likely remember Harry :P)
> 
> I wanted to make a fic that centers around the process of slowly forgetting someone you love. It is far from beautiful, but this has haunted me for quite some time already and I need to write it down. Hopefully I've managed to portray Harry's and Draco's emotions and feelings all throughout the experience. 
> 
> P.S. I hope the interchanging POVs wouldn't confuse you (sometimes lol the fic is 85% on Harry's POV). Keep safe everyone!
> 
> For those who'll ask for a more concrete, happy ending, the truth is I already have a draft (like some sort of Epilogue), but I'm too scared that my writing sucks and no one would like this trope. If you are interested though, you can put it in the comments and I'll most likely be persuaded *pinky promise*


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